Find A Place
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: Originally posted on Tumblr. A (smutty) fic of that car sex scene we witnessed begin and end, but didn't actually get to see happen. (11x16)


Originally posted on Tumblr. _ **  
**_ _A smutty fic of that car sex scene we witnessed begin and end but didn't actually get to see happen_ **.** (11x16)  
 **Enjoy! :)**

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She's not sure how they make it to his car, or rather their car because she never seems to drive hers anymore, but suddenly her back is being pushed up against the glass of a back window and his hands are all over her.

It's what she wants, what she needs, and his urgency proves that he'd been craving the same thing.

They needed this, intimacy in its most delicate form and close human contact that wasn't just a hug or a reassuring hand to a shaking shoulder.

They needed body heat, and colliding breaths, and synchronised kisses. They needed comfort, reassurance. They needed each other without taking too much.

She willingly lets him push her favourite grey off of her shoulders, and she assists, then reaching over to begin to pull his own down his arms, lips till connected.

His hands aren't rough, just a little damaging, wounding, but it's what she'd wanted for so many days now.

She's overcome grief, she believes, and he has too, so of course the next step in their relationship, in their marriage, is to be close again, to touch and love and feel again.

April wasn't asking for much, just a little loving, holding with something other than his usual "It's okay."

Turns out all she needed to do to get through to him was to remind him of who they are, were, who they need to return to while changing their lives in the process.

His jacket isn't fully removed before he picks her up, arm around her waist as the other pulls opens the car door.

She squeals in approval, keeps her arms wrapped around his neck for support as her hair sways at the lift.

She's pretty sure her coat is still outside for a second, but Jackson clouds her thoughts when he shuffles into the backseat after her, hands cupping her face and somehow managing to close the door shut behind him.

She lies beneath him for a second, her back on an almost upright angle and her legs pulls up at his sides. It's uncomfortable, but she can't wait until they get home.

He needs it as much as she does, she can feel, maybe even a little more so.

'You don't think I want to have sex with my wife?' Meaning, I've been thinking about it and you and I can't wait any longer. Meaning, this has been incredibly difficult for me but I was trying to do what was right, what I thought you needed, what I'm still going to do even if we're healing.

Her hands keep tugging at the top of his jacket until he finally pulls it off, carelessly tossing it over onto the passenger seat in the front of the car, feeling her fingers wrap around the front of his shirt and pull him down into her.

The redhead moans out when he kisses her again, that regular frown to his face that says I can't get enough and you're killing me, woman.

It makes her smile, grin even, and she can't help it when she pushes against his chest, pulling away from his lips momentarily to cover him, lead the operation, straddle his lap and grasps the sides of his neck between her hands.

She swallows a breath, keeps a flickering gaze between his eyes and his mouth, noticing him do the same.

And then she attacks his mouth again, with the same force she'd been using to try and hook him all day.

It works now though, because he's here, and he's willing, and he's hers. They're back, they're feeling again.

They pull away again after a moment, with her fingertips still clawing at him and his hands somewhere between between her chest and face.

Jackson smiles, admires the way she gently leans her head against his, eager grin on her lips and unable to contain her joy. They're doing this, that, coming back. And then he kisses her again.

The draped sleeves of her blouse graze his warm flesh as she goes to remove his shirt, attaching her lips to his own like she was seeking dear life.

April pulls on the buttons of his half cotton, half denim shirt, lets the cloth dangle from his shoulders until she strips it away, bares his upper naked body the way she'd been craving for what feels like forever.

The man drags it down is arms hurriedly, discards it on the car floor before he grips her sides, assuring her place and position above him. Don't move, stay here, be mine.

They don't need to talk. They've been doing enough of that for the past few weeks, all small sentences and quiet tones.

They need physicality, contact, now. They need to experience longing being fulfilled, not just empty words that offer no actual embrace.

Soon her blouse joins his shirt, abandoned and unnecessary after he removes it from her body, her arms raised high like she can't get it off quick enough, brushing her hair out of her face to concentrate.

Jackson's not ignorant to the way her breasts have grown, because he knows that there was a purpose for it, for the added comfort.

But he won't bring it up now, or again just yet, because right now her boobs are bigger and she's horny and he needs release.

When she's free of her top, she cups the sides of his face between the palms of her hands again, wedding band pressed against his skin coldly. It's a reminder, a promise. You stayed, you are mine.

April shrieks for the second time when he grabs her hips and pushes her down onto the backseat, lets her keep her fingertips dancing across his skin as he works on unfastening her pants.

She shifts, lifts up into him when he needs her to in order to pull the jeans from her body.

Her shoes fall to meet his now forgotten ones and her knees somehow pull up at his sides as he reaches for her tank top, tugging the thin turquoise piece of clothing over her head carelessly.

She obliges, allows him to undress her the way he wants, missed.

But her hands fly towards his own pants pretty soon, unzipping the fly and popping open the button before she slips her hands down the back of his boxers, encourages him to rid himself of both items.

He does, leans back to quickly strip off, but then he's back on her, uncomfortable because they're in a car after all, and her bra is being unclasped and thrown aside as though it repulsed him. It matches her tank top, so it may as well join it on the floor.

She doesn't cower away and cover herself the way she once would have if he had her alone and naked on the backseat of his car a couple of years ago.

She's his wife now, his other half, and he treats her the way she's always wanted to be treated. He's a pretty damn fine husband.

He loves her, and she him, and she has full faith that would never do a thing to hurt her. Why should she hide from that, from him?

She's here, she's his wife, and she needs him.

April takes a deep breath when he hooks his thumbs down the sides of her underwear, gently but rapidly pulls them down her thighs.

It's been too long, too many months since they've been here, in this physical and emotional position. It's been too long since she's felt him, been with her husband the way she enjoys so much.

Sometime within all of this, he'd managed to retrieve a condom from his wallet, and stretch it over his length under her watchful gaze.

"Are you okay?" It's the only thing he asks her before he wraps his hands around her curved thighs, pushing himself against her softly.

She breathes, nods, can't let out anything other than a simple "yeah" past her lips.

It was easy for them before, but maybe time and life has changed things. Maybe their intimate life can't go back to what it was, before the questions of science versus faith and the harsh reality of sick children were brought up.

April digs her heels into his muscles as he enters her then, her hands clawing at his neck sharply and his face reaching down to capture her lips, to envelop her moans and cries.

She's missed this, as has he, and while she can feel her eyes on the brink of tears at the feeling, at the memory of them sharing love, making it whole and eternal, she holds back.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she pulls her mouth away from his, lets her head fall back against the edge of the car seat, the leather material making her skin sweat all that little bit more.

It's hot, and intense, and she loses all train of thought when his lips drop to her neck, his hips still rhythmically steady and thrusting against her own.

Jackson knits his brows as he looks up at her face through his lashes, keeps his tongue pressed against a beating nerve in her neck, one she loves to feel radiate and one he enjoys to torture.

The air is thick, from heavy breaths and gentle sobs of ecstasy, the heat getting the better of them and bringing towards that dangerous edge she's missed for so long.

Sex while she was pregnant wasn't the same. They were most careful, controlled, and she never wanted to orgasm because she was aware of her own habitudes.

Her back begins to ache after a moment, when he's moving faster, and she's meeting his every touch every second. She can hear it, the noise their bodies joining makes, the mixture of limbs and gentle flesh sticking together from the swell of the heat, of exhaustion.

He begins to feel heavy when his arms pressed down by the sides of her face begin to shake, strain because he's there, and he needs her to be, too.

He lowers a hand down between their bodies, teases his thumb over her vibrating nub, smirks proudly when she shivers, gasps and calls out his name softly, almost a silent cry.

"That good, huh?" He repeats his words from earlier in the day, voice low and husky as he leans down to her again, his ministrations against her intimacy continuing as he pushes into her, earns a louder moan this time around, feels her nails dil into his skin.

His green eyes close then, tongue licking his own lip as he has to collapse, rest up on elbows instead of hands and and thrust into her a few final times.

He comes before she does, which isn't usually the case for them, and her eyes fly wide open when she realises that he's finished, done before she's hit that level of pleasure.

She knows what he's going to do before he does it. He pulls her up by the waist, leans himself back against the sweaty carseat as he lowers her back down to his shaft, hands running up her body and over her breasts to grasp the sides of her face tenderly.

She sighs adoringly, keeps a steady hold of her hands around his hard build, presses her lips against his for extra sensation.

He kisses her wildly, tongue and teeth mingling as she lowers a hand, presses it against herself as she rides him, keeps a regular rhythm against his lap.

It always works.

Her thighs widen at his sides, her pale body then pressing further down onto his darker one, her fingertips clutching at him for support, for love, for guidance.

Don't move, stay here, be mine.

He doesn't flinch, only digs the tips of his fingers into her skin, pressing into what was once wider, bigger, fuller. He loves it, maybe more so now than when she'd been smaller. It's a reminder of their recent past, and he quite enjoys the memory of feeling her stomach flutter. But things are different now.

She finally reaches her peak after a few minutes, when her thighs are tired and her knees are burned from rubbing against the leather seating, lap hot from repeatedly dropping down on him.

April closes her eyes as she cums, drops her head to his shoulders and shivers when he runs a hand up and down her back, gently reminding her of his presence, of his dedication.

She bites her lip after s second, after she's tightened and shake against him like a purring cat.

And then she backs away slightly, hands shifting to clasp around the back of his neck.

Jackson just smiles, watching as his wife comes down from her high, lets her body do all the work, and he quits pushing, restrains himself from removing that condom and spilling into her.

She falls into him then, tired and slack against his body. Her hair is fallen, tussled in every way and she's breathing heavily, pulse most likely matching his own beating one.

"That was…"

"Great."

April giggles softly, allows him to lower her back onto the seat, after finding a blanket and cushion out of the back of the trunk.

She cuddles into the pillow, into him when he lays down by her left side, arm wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her into him again.

Her hazel eyes drift shut because either one of them can talk, and he's not even sure words would have been truly necessary anyway.

He follows suit, allows himself a moment of rest as he feels her steady breath playing against his own, his thumb continuously sweeping across her cheekbone adoringly.

Don't move, stay here, be mine.

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I imagine some lovely guest reviewers will have some harsh words to say about this because _it doesn't feature rape, or unicorns or rainbows_ , and well, it's by **me**. Excuse me for actually being able to write something good, of substance, in-character. Feel free to read and review something else if you already know you don't like me. Leaving anonymous hate is laughable. Have fun.


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